


Remember, Remember

by irisbleufic



Series: One Step Away 'Verse (& Related Excursions) [5]
Category: Back to the Future (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 15:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5339171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can't go a month without tripping over an important date or two?  Mark them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember, Remember

**Author's Note:**

> OSA 'Verse add-on, since I continue to let people request and/or inspire them. This is set not quite a month after [**Paradise Drive**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5140922). These guys have far too many anniversaries-of-sorts, but idly keeping track of them makes for worthwhile ficlets. This is probably the last thing I'll manage to post before surgery; as for whether typing will be all that possible in the week immediately following, I'm not entirely sure, so I may have to content myself more with reading than writing. For Edgebug and Milarca.

**November 5 - 7, 1986**

For once, they were in the midst of a power outage that _didn't_ appear to be Doc's fault. 

Marty had stopped playing about a minute ago, fingers poised on his pick, waiting for the electricity to hum back to life. On the floor, Einstein whimpered, shoving his nose further under the arch of Marty's right foot. Keeping time without socks on was a bad idea when Einie was in one of his my-humans-are-ignoring-me funks. Marty tilted his head, listening for Doc's bustle in the bedroom; he expected Doc would've abandoned the word processor in favor of rustling up alternative lighting.

"Hey, Doc!" he called, lifting his foot so that he could avail himself of Einstein's cold nose and use his toes to scratch behind one silky ear. "Please tell me you didn't blow every fuse in the house just by typing, did you? Marjane's gonna have a fit if she's been affected downstairs!"

"Our gracious landlady might well be the culprit!" Doc shouted, appearing in the doorway several seconds later. "She enrolled in that electrical engineering course a month or so back, remember? I told her that sometimes the best way to learn how to fix something is to break it yourself."

"So you're telling me this _is_ your fault?" Marty asked, squinting to make out the flashlights in Doc's hands. "You're a real pain in the ass sometimes, you know that? Switch those things on, jeez."

Doc did as he was told, navigating his way past the armchair in order to take a seat beside Marty on the sofa. Once settled, he set the two flashlights upright on the coffee table in front of them, letting the their beams hit the ceiling. Einstein snuffled at Doc's ankles, so Doc reached down and gave him a thorough head-rub. Marty tossed his pick on the table, set his guitar to one side, and flopped back against Doc. He contemplated the flashlights' glow, snagging the edge of a memory.

_Darkness, ruin, disarray. Familiar surroundings rendered foreign, ringed in orange flame._

"Possibly," Doc allowed, resting his arm along the back of the sofa, turning his head as Marty leaned against his shoulder. "However, I assumed she'd take the advice with a grain of salt."

" _You_ never take your advice with a grain of salt, Doc," Marty reminded him, patting Doc's knee, curling closer until Doc's chin rested on top of his head. "So who _else_ would?"

"Often enough, you," said Doc, candidly, running one idle fingertip from the back of Marty's hand up to his elbow. "You react with whatever measure of restraint or excess circumstance requires."

Marty closed his eyes again, nuzzling Doc's collar as shamelessly as Einstein had nosed at Marty's foot. The flashlight-beams left ghostly imprints against the backs of his eyelids; the aura flared, distorting his mental image. For something that had technically never happened, it was vivid.

"This is gonna sound weird, but I'm thinking about how all those candles made your garage look cozy even though it was wrecked," he sighed. "In 1985A, I mean. You made it feel like home."

"I'd rather not indulge in that kind of extravagance unless the blackout persists," Doc admitted, his breath slow and even against Marty's forehead, "but I'm pleased that such a pragmatic solution in the face of less-than-ideal circumstances provided you with some comfort."

"I think Einie appreciated it, too," Marty replied, opening his eyes, catching sight of Einstein where he'd stretched out under the coffee table. "It was a shame about his bed, though, and..." _And whatever happened to_ him _in that timeline_. Following that chain of inquiry wasn't worth the grief; Marty shivered. "Sometimes I wonder how we got out of there alive."

"Sometimes I wonder how we got out of _then_ alive," Doc murmured, indulging his impulse toward precision, but he let the matter drop. "Those candles did improve matters somewhat."

"I wouldn't mind the lights staying out if it meant a little ambiance," Marty said, dropping a kiss against Doc's collarbone. Doc's skin was warm through the cotton, tempting under the circumstances. Einstein could be a bother while he was in a snit. If they shut him out, he'd bark.

"Let's wait a while longer, see what happens," Doc suggested, already tipping Marty's chin up.

Apparently kissing to pass the time was all right, because Einstein didn't budge. Five minutes stretched into ten; Marty slid into Doc's lap so that Doc wouldn't get a crick in his neck. Another five minutes would've led to something fairly hot and heavy, but the lights flickered back on just as Marty was getting down to business on Doc's earlobe. He nipped it wistfully, lifting his head.

"I've gotta finish learning this piece, Doc," he sighed. "My Friday midterm depends on it."

"It's Wednesday evening now," Doc replied reasonably. "I have no doubt you'll succeed."

"Yeah, but it means we can't keep _this_ up," Marty said. "And that's not much fun."

"Is Friday your last exam?" Doc ventured, hopeful. "Friday morning, unless I'm mistaken?"

"Yep," Marty confirmed. "Why? Are you offering me a rain check? Go finish your column."

"I might be," Doc said. "And yes, you're right. We both have work to finish. Pensive stuff."

"Why?" Marty asked, shifting out of Doc's lap with a grimace. "You usually keep it light."

"Remember, remember the fifth of November," Doc intoned. "Only I can't really explain to my readership why I'm in the mood for navel-gazing, can I? I'd be institutionalized for sure. Not very reassuring."

"Don't you dare joke about that," Marty chided, reaching for his guitar. "Not on my watch."

Marty turned in two hours later, having given up the endeavor for a B-plus job. Given his marks in the master class for the rest of the semester, it probably wouldn't make much of a dent in his GPA. Falling asleep to the sound of Doc's keyboard clacking away in the next room was comforting, but it also meant he wouldn't be awake when Doc finally came to bed. He woke up to more slow kisses, breakfast, and Doc coming off as slightly distracted as he shooed Marty off to class.

When he got home around six, it was _his_ turn to find _Doc_ completely bushwhacked; the poor guy was hanging halfway off the sofa with dog-eared journals all over the place. Marty quietly collected them all, put in some strips of paper by way of proper bookmarks, and got down to the business of making something for dinner that didn't involve much more than creative microwaving. They had TV dinners on the sofa in front of some nature documentaries on PBS, after which Marty threatened Doc into an early bedtime and did some last-minute cramming.

He left for his midterm the next morning with Doc still sound asleep, a rare enough occurrence in its own right. He ran into Marjane, who had cardamom tea and newspaper in hand, smoking on the front porch. He waved from the foot of the stairs, keys to his truck idly jangling.

"How about that power hiccup the other night?" Marjane called after him, flicking ash haphazardly over her shoulder. "Emmett wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would he?"

"Funny," Marty said, already sliding into the driver's seat, "but we thought _you_ might!"

Forty minutes later—nerves still shot, but otherwise more pleased with his performance exam than he'd expected to be—Marty returned to the house to find Marjane long gone and Doc bustling around upstairs with more than half a weekend's worth of packing finished for both of them.

"What's this all about?" Marty asked, setting down his guitar case. "I thought we weren't making the trip till next weekend. Tiff says my parents have been quiet and the house is fine, remember?"

Doc shrugged, patting the DeLorean keys in his breast pocket. "I thought, what the hell, you could use a break at home after the academic wringer you've been through this week. We both could. I've arranged for Marjane to watch Einie for the weekend. He's already downstairs getting spoiled."

Marty nodded, finding he couldn't even find a reason to argue with that. "Fine, but you're driving."

Doc gave him ten minutes to change his clothes and square away anything else he might need before they hit the road. He was adamant about leaving as soon as possible, lest they hit any lunch-break traffic. Marty used the bathroom, switched out his shoes, and grabbed his denim jacket from the bedroom. It wasn't cold yet, but he suspected they'd find Hill Valley chilly enough that evening.

"All set, Doc," he said, grabbing the remaining suitcase on his way to the door, realizing Doc had already gone outside and was probably waiting for him in the car. "Jesus, somebody's in a hurry."

Fortunately, Doc didn't have any objections to letting Marty sleep. He conked out in the passenger seat no sooner than they'd hit the freeway; Doc didn't wake him until they'd reached their usual halfway-point rest stop for food and fuel. Marty got them take-out from the express Chinese kiosk while Doc squared away the gas. He skipped straight to opening one of the fortune cookies on his way to the car, where Doc was already waiting for him, impatiently tapping the steering wheel.

"Hey, check this out," Marty said, sliding back into his seat, holding out the slip while Doc took the stapled brown bag out of Marty's other hand and tore into it, eager for his lo mein. " _The greatest risk is not taking one_. I guess we know plenty about that." He handed Doc the other cookie.

"You'll spoil your dinner," said Doc, halfheartedly, but didn't protest when Marty ate both halves of his cookie at once. Instead, he opened his own. " _You will marry your lover_. Encouraging."

Heart seizing, Marty fished both pairs of chopsticks out of the bag and handed one over to Doc. "Yeah, not for, like, fifty more years," he sighed, breaking into his sweet and sour chicken. "Not at the rate _this_ country's going. Maybe we should ask my grandma about Canada. Maybe I could get citizenship or something? _Everywhere_ is gonna legalize that before we do."

"I'm willing to wait it out," Doc said, between mouthfuls of lo mein, his fortune cookie already devoured, "as long as you're willing to wait with me." He offered Marty a lop-sided grin.

"How can I resist when you put it like that?" Marty sighed, returning it, genuinely moved.

Marty slept for the remainder of the drive, more wiped-out than he'd thought he was. Doc's lips brushing his forehead, the bridge of his nose, one of his cheeks after the other: this was what drew him back to fading daylight. He yawned at just about the same instant Doc kissed his mouth.

"That was less than ideal," said Doc, wryly, shifting the kiss to his chin. "Marty, we're home."

Once Marty had stretched, he held Doc where he was so that he could rectify the situation, planting one on Doc's lips just as somebody knocked on the windshield. Marty's heart _stopped_.

"You guys gotta be more careful!" Tiff shouted, jingling her key-ring with all the various Estate keys in Doc's face as he got out of the car. "I could've been just _anybody_ out here."

"Fortunately, you're exactly who I expected you'd be," Doc told her while Marty unfastened his seatbelt, his pulse returning to normal, and got out of the car. "Is everything in order?"

"Yeah, yeah," Tiff said, pocketing her keys, winking at Marty. "Just what the Doc ordered."

Tiff got on her bike and high-tailed it out of there before Marty could ask quite what _that_ had been about. Meanwhile, Doc had already hauled their stuff out from behind the seats.

"Go on ahead and get the door open," Doc urged, pressing his keys into Marty's right hand.

"Since we caught Tiff on her way out, and since you seemed to know she was gonna be here," Marty said, doing as he was told, "it might already be unlo—well, wait." He caught a glimpse of flickering through the garage-entrance window, and then glanced up at the house proper.

"Marty?" Doc asked, still fiddling with the broken clasp on his suitcase. "What is it?"

"Do you mean you want me to go in the garage?" Marty asked. "What's going on here?"

"Go, go, go," said Doc, impatiently, collecting up all their things. "You'll see soon enough."

 _If you did something as stupid as I think_ , Marty thought, racing over to unlock the door, _I'm gonna end up giving you a piece of my mind before you get anything else._ Still, all his split-second anger at realizing Doc had arranged for Tiff to set up something highly flammable (in which there might've been a window where the Estate was left _unattended_ ) evaporated when he stepped into the garage's darkened interior. That was a _lot_ of goddamn candles, but the space was a far less threatening facsimile of his memory. It was what it _should_ have been.

"It's November seventh," said Doc, quietly, hovering behind Marty in the doorway. "Just as important as the fifth, in my estimation. Or any of the days we bothered to mark last month."

"Doc, that concert was always gonna be hard for you to top," Marty replied, taking in the scene one more time before turning to watch Doc clumsily drop their luggage and fumble the door shut. Maybe it was carry-over from the adrenaline of Tiff shocking him in the car, but nothing, _nothing_ about the unexpected sweetness of Doc's gesture could wait for payback.

"Maybe this isn't the best location for your amorous designs?" Doc managed, although he didn't seem to mind being pinned against the door as much as his words suggested. He ran his fingers through Marty's hair, watching Marty unbutton his shirt with languorous detachment.

Marty looked up at him, tugging Doc's undershirt out of his jeans. Rare enough, the times Doc wore denim, and pretty fucking hot for that fact. "I'm thinking your old sofa's the only viable furniture out here, so if that's what you had in mind, take your shoes off and get your butt over there."

"I'm not sure I was thinking anything except that I'd attempt to predict your facial expression," Doc admitted, giving Marty a grateful nod as he backed off so that Doc could wrangle off his shoes. "I thought it might please you after what you said the other night, maybe banish the ghost of—"

Marty turned his back on Doc—pointed, yet playful—shedding his jacket and sneakers on the way to the sofa. It wasn't as dusty as the one in the old garage had been, and he almost wished they'd kept a bed out here as carry-over from the phase they'd been living in _this_ space till the house was finished. This Hilldale re-build wasn't Riverside-slash-JFK, could never _fully_ replace Doc's old place, but it was what they had together.

And, for Marty, that was enough. "How about I just catch a few more Zs while you mess around, Doc?" he said, lying down.

Doc took his time reaching Marty's side, barefoot and stripped down to his undershirt, jeans still unbuttoned. "I don't think you're taking into account what a production fitting _both_ of us—"

"Jeez, would you stop _fussing_ ," Marty sighed fondly, flattening himself against the back of the sofa as much as he could as Doc joined him on it. He had to cling to Doc with all his strength to keep him from rolling off, but it was great leverage for squirming until he'd managed to work one leg up between Doc's and slot himself in as close as he could. _There_. It didn't necessarily make the kissing part easier, because they both tended to move around a lot, but this was everything he'd wanted during the blackout and _more_. Marty whimpered when Doc bit at his lower lip.

"We didn't get to do enough of this for my liking," Doc said, his voice low and raspy like it tended to be first thing in the morning, and wasn't that just _perfect_. "In the old place, I mean."

"Yeah, no shit," Marty mumbled, ducking his head to nip at Doc's neck in retaliation. "That's because we had, like, two beds to choose from. And don't even _start_ me on that one time—"

"Happiest months of my life, at least up until that point," Doc breathed, sounding ragged. "Marty."

Marty grinned against the damage he was undoubtedly doing to the patch of skin just beneath Doc's ear. "November '85 through, I don't know, sometime this spring, Doc, I'm losing it," he said, giving Doc's ass an experimental squeeze, because catching him on a twitchy, ticklish day was sometimes tricky. "I miss the old place too, okay? I don't think less of you for selling it off, though, because you needed..."

Doc bucked against him in response; the swift intake of breath was encouraging. "Every little bit helps, as they say," he agreed distractedly. "And I wanted you to—to have this."

" _Mmm_ , Jesus," Marty said, capturing Doc's mouth again. "I just want you to be happy."

Doc couldn't answer that for at least another two minutes, because Marty made damn sure his tongue was occupied. "I, ah, Marty— _I_ —if you don't think you've achieved that, then—"

"I wondered when you were gonna start suggesting reparations," Marty teased, mussing Doc's hair into a wild halo that caught the candlelight just _so_. He wasn't sure when he'd ended up on his back, and that without either of them falling off the sofa, so he had to give them lots of credit.

Doc pulled back just far enough to look down at him, panting slightly. "Am I ready for my close-up?"

"You're ready for those pants to come off, is what I'm thinking," Marty said, snapping his hips up for emphasis. "Or we could, you know, be _really_ lazy about this and just stay dressed."

Doc took slow, even breath, his eyes closing as he pressed a kiss to Marty's forehead. "Marty, I _hadn't_ thought ahead of the candles." He brushed Marty's right cheek with his knuckles, breathing measured warmth against Marty's left— _in-out, in-out_. "You've been tired."

"Yeah, but I also like the idea of this old-fashioned necking. That rain-check, Doc, remember?"

"You're not so far out of high school that you've earned the right to call this old-fashioned," said Doc, in that low, sarcastic-as-anything tone that never ceased to impress Marty when he heard it.

"You're ruining this," Marty protested, latching onto Doc's earlobe. "Isn't this the part where you tell me I make you feel like a teenager again or something? C'mon, Doc. Work with me here."

"You make me feel like I _wish_ I'd had the chance to feel as a teenager," he scoffed, voice gone somewhat breathy again, " _thank_ you." He worked one hand up the back of Marty's shirt, grunting a little at the effort given Marty's back was flat against the cushions.

"I don't think you feel much different now than you did then, at least otherwise," Marty sighed, tipping his head back while Doc paid some attention to his throat. "For you, time's irrelevant."

Doc licked a thoughtful stripe from there down to Marty's t-shirt covered collarbone, biting down gently. "It's less that time's irrelevant and more that it moves in mysterious ways, one of which—"

"Don't finish that thought," Marty gasped, pushing up against him a little harder. " _There_."

The shift in tone didn't take Doc by surprise so much as it seemed to spur him immediately into overdrive. "I guess we're going with the lazy approach," he murmured, kissing Marty slow and deep enough to make him pleasantly dizzy.

"Hey, fine by me," Marty agreed, winding his arms around Doc's neck. "Is this close enough?"


End file.
